


We are the lonely ones

by kqhwafellaz



Series: The Anarchists [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood, M/M, Prince!Hongjoong, The romance is there..., betrayal kind of, loss of family, minor Yunho/Yeosang, still don't know how to tag, there's no much of it but I swear it's there, there's some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22374529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kqhwafellaz/pseuds/kqhwafellaz
Summary: “Your Highness,” San said, tone urgent, “we have to go.”
Relationships: Choi San/Kim Hongjoong
Series: The Anarchists [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890952
Comments: 29
Kudos: 88





	We are the lonely ones

**Author's Note:**

> It's me, back on my sad bullshit. This was inspired entirely by an AMAZING fanart that just sparked my inspiration so much I couldn't ignore it, and I'll drop it in the notes at the end to avoid possible spoilers.
> 
> Super big thanks to [Dana](https://twitter.com/probIematic) for helping me with the general idea and [Jess](https://twitter.com/httpteez) for proofreading this I love you guys🥺
> 
> heads up though, romance is a really minor subject on this one, I'm gonna be writing another fic where I'll be more specific about that whole side, but I just didn't want to make this one too long.
> 
> Title taken from Die a Little by Yungblud

Kostos had never been overly peaceful, but it was safe.

It was never a kingdom to back down from a challenge, much less to shrink away in fear at the prospect of a threat. They were a strong kingdom, after all, ready to fight and never willing to be subdued in the face of any opponent, no matter how strong they might seem.

The Ancients of the kingdom used to say Hongjoong’s father was too full of pride, that so much power made him blind to the struggles and dooms he’d end up bringing upon his people, that his reckless steps and fearless actions would lead their kingdom to its annihilation—Hongjoong never believed them, through 22 years and about to take the throne, he never once believed them. His father was a wise man, and he was prideful, yes, but he was not delusional. Their kingdom was strong, their armies were numerous, their resources vast… anyone who ever tried to negatively affect them ended up crushed under their iron grip.

Hongjoong’s father was wise. Hongjoong’s kingdom was strong. He never had a reason to believe the Ancients, so he never did.

And it only made it that much more surprising when they turned out to be right. 

The night where it all ended—or started, it all really depends on your perspective of the situation—Hongjoong was awoken by the sound of screaming, ringing so awfully and morbidly that his first instinct was to rip his eardrums out. He quickly sat up on the bed, desperately looking around in panic as the sounds became clearer to him as sleep left his mind. 

The screams came from every direction, every corner of the palace. In the distance, Hongjoong could hear the frightened neighs of horses, along with the fierce screams of men in battle. He could hear the sounds of distant explosions, and could almost smell death.

With a quick jump, he got off the bed, scrambling to get rid off his sleeping clothes and get in something fitting for a battle. He quickly grabbed his sword and knives, hiding them along his vest and all the nooks in his clothes he could fit them in, before quickly making his way out the room. 

The hallway was deserted of people, the guards that usually stood around nowhere to be found, and the flags with the emblem of the kingdom on fire. Hongjoong hurried out, ready to join the battle against whoever was coward enough to attack them in the middle of the night, without a warning. 

The prince’s blood turned into ice more and more with each step he gave, each centimeter bringing him closer to the outside only serving to make the sounds of the fight stronger. Hongjoong bit his tongue and ran faster as he heard the distant sound of children screaming.

He made it to the foyer, which was plagued with knights in black armour. Hongjoong recognized the mark in their shields as that of the kingdom of the south, Plarece, but he had not much time to process any information, to dwell on why an ally would attack them, before there was someone attacking _him._

The knight came out of nowhere, but Hongjoong’s reflexes were good enough to dodge away the sharp end of his sword—Hongjoong might’ve been young, but fighting is a quality every future king should be good at, and he had spent his life training, he was not afraid, it all almost felt like second nature.

He lost count of how many people he fought with, lost count of how many of them he left laying on the floor, bleeding through whichever part of the body he managed to pierce with his own sword. All his mind was set on was going out of the castle, finding a horse so he could have an upper hand on all those men who were on foot.

He was far from the door, fighting a man who had backed him up against the back of the room, occupied mostly by unmoving corpses. At that point, some of his clothes had been ripped open by the merciless aim of the other knights, and he had gotten a minor cut on his face from when he got too distracted—the distant cries of the innocent kept making him hesitate, muscles straining against the urge of just _running to them and help them_ —but he managed to swiftly run his sword across the neck of his opponent.

Hongjoong took a second to breathe while the other collapses to the ground, blood splashing around with a disgusting sound, and roamed his eyes around the room, studying carefully their situation. 

_There are too many of them, too little of us._

Hongjoong felt panic raise up in his chest as he realized most men left in the room were opponents, but he pushed it down and forced himself to take a step forward, into the battle.

Hands stopped him, someone catching him by the back, one arm across his chest, hand over his shoulder, and another over his mouth, stopping him from making any sound. Hongjoong struggled against whoever had grabbed him, but the arm over his chest was also holding still the arm in which he was holding his sword, so there wasn’t much he could do beside kicking his legs as he was dragged back into a dark hallway.

It took several steps into the hallway before the prince managed to set himself free, pushing his head back to pound against the enemy’s chin and take advantage of the moment in which they lost their balance. Hongjoong turned around, sword held high and ready to strike. 

A glimpse of silver hair caught his attention, and Hongjoong immediately lowered his sword. 

The other gave a step forward, into the light that was streaming from the broken window at their side, and Hongjoong realized it was San.

San was wearing his royal uniform, as he did most of the time, wine red and gold contrasting against the part of his hair which was almost white, and blood dirtying the side of his head and his hands, the black leather covering his right arm shining with what must’ve also been blood. 

Had it not been for his hair, Hongjoong would’ve had severely wounded him.

All the guards and knights of high class were the same, they came all from the same lineage, and strands of silver hair were the proof of that. Just like the royal family, whose heads were always covered in white hair since birth in signal of their noble blood, this quality served to identify the elite in Kostos.

“Your Highness,” San said, tone urgent, “we have to go.”

It took a minute for Hongjoong to understand those words, a few seconds they didn’t have to let them sink in.

“What? No!” Hongjoong all but screamed, tearing his arm away from where San had been dragging him to somewhere he didn’t know. “We gotta fight! I’m not leaving my people behind!”

“Your Highness, they outdo us in number!” San screamed back, “They’re killing the nobles, I gotta keep you _safe_!”

_Ah_ , of course he did.

Every elite knight had a purpose, each one of them carefully trained since a young age to be a skillful machine capable of protecting the royal family.

San was born to protect Hongjoong.

Since before he was born, they had already decided that for him, and since they were so young Hongjoong couldn’t even remember, San had remained by his side. Though younger, he was always the one who took care of Hongjoong, always the one to stay still and silent, if there was one thing in the world Hongjoong was sure about, that was San’s loyalty. He knew, without a doubt, San would give his own life to protect Hongjoong’s own.

Hongjoong wasn’t allowed to do the same, so it didn’t really matter if he would or not —but he would, without hesitation, because San was more than just his guard, they’d known each other for so long. San was already part of Hongjoong, so much that a life without him to the young prince would feel like missing a limb, an important part of you that could never be replaced.

“If we go down tonight, then we should all go down together!” Hongjoong stated, already turning around to go back to the battle.

“I can’t allow that, your Highness!” San protested, holding Hongjoong back by both his arms.

“Let me go!” Hongjoong screamed, they were wasting time, each second they spent here, having this stupid dispute, another person died. “Let me go, San, we have to help!”

San didn’t answer, instead forcing Hongjoong to his knees and pushing him to the window. Hongjoong didn’t quite understand the why, until San pushed him to see over it.

“They’re killing the nobles,” he said harshly, grip on Hongjoong’s arms keeping the prince up as he looked in horror at the pile of bloodied people with white hair at a side. They were stacking the bodies of the nobles, one on top of each other, and Hongjoong felt his stomach twist painfully at the sight of his sisters’ lifeless bodies, clothes stained in blood. “I can’t let this happen to you, I’m not giving you a choice. I’m sorry, Hongjoong, but I will not let your pride doom you like it’s done to the rest of them.”

San dragged Hongjoong away without much resistance, not because the prince didn’t want to, but because his mind ended up stuck on the image of his family, massacred and gory. His limbs lost all strength, and he was nothing but a rag doll for San to carry around. 

San took them to the dungeon and closed the doors.

“They already came here,” he explained, “they released all the criminals.” 

Hongjoong didn’t know how long it took for him to react. A few minutes, or a few hours, time felt lost in the turmoil of his own head. 

He fought San, fought with his bare hands, hitting him and demanding they both went out, but it was useless, the other didn’t relent, and Hongjoong ended up chained up like an animal.

None of them slept. Of course they didn’t.

The screams and sounds of the fight went on until the early hours of the morning, but San didn’t allow either of them out until the evening, only unchaining Hongjoong after he had gone on a small expedition to confirm there was no one around. 

He didn’t apologize for chaining Hongjoong up. The older never expected him to.

They walked around the filth and the corpses with their swords held tight just in case there was some enemy still around, the puddles of blood surrounded by flies making Hongjoong gag as they made their way around what was left of the castle, which had been set on fire.

There wasn’t anything left of Hongjoong’s chambers, the whole wing that used to be exclusively for the royalty had been burnt down to ashes, jewellery and expensive artefacts were scattered around what used to be the foyer, proof of the plunder that had been going on before everything was set on fire.

Hongjoong walked around aimlessly, feeling lost, unable to believe the downfall of such a strong kingdom had happened so quickly. How did they defeat such a numerous army? The kingdom of the south was certainly not as big as their own, not as powerful, so _how_?

San brought him out of his thoughts, he was holding Hongjoong’s Coronet, cleaning it with his already dirty clothes.

He looked like the sole sight of it hurt him, but he walked to Hongjoong without hesitation and placed it atop his head, the white gold matching with his hair and shining in the dim light the twilight had to offer them.

They made their way out what was left of the castle and around the burnt gardens, the sky was impossibly dark as they roamed around the bodies of the innocents that had been victim of the sudden attack, droplets falling constantly, a rain which only seemed to have the purpose of making Hongjoong's blood run even colder. 

Hongjoong walked almost aimlessly. Almost. He knew where he was subconsciously heading to, and San did nothing but follow him closely. 

He halted when he arrived at the place he wanted to reach, and held his breath at the horrid sight in front of him. The night before, only a few people had been there. No more than Hongjoong’s sisters, and his uncle.

But then, Hongjoong’s entire family was scattered around, nothing but empty shells in a myriad of others, bathed in their own blood that the rain was slowly washing away, with swords and spears still pierced through some of them.

Hongjoong stared numbly at his twin sisters, who were younger than him by three years, and heard as a sound ripped itself from his chest. It was frustration, it was rage, it was pain. His family had died, his younger sisters, and he had done nothing to protect them. 

Even if he had tried, he probably would’ve been able to do absolutely _nothing_ to protect them. It was eating him alive.

His father still had a sword buried deep in his chest, his mother’s throat had been cut, and he did _nothing_ , he had no chance to have ever done _anything_.

Hongjoong felt tears make their way out his eyes, and he said nothing as he let them run down his face soundlessly. San turned around, giving his back at him to grant him some privacy without actually leaving him alone.

Hongjoong stared and sobbed quietly, letting the rain mingle with his tears, as an ugly feeling of hatred filled his heart.

He was going to get revenge.

  
  


\----

  
  


Healing was quick—healing physically, that is, because Hongjoong was positive there was no chance for the pain in his heart to be healed ever again, that pain was a burden he would need to learn how to carry. 

After Hongjoong was done mourning over the corpses of his family, he had removed the weapons still attached to their lifeless bodies, and he and San and moved them and buried them in parts of the gardens that weren't flooded with other bodies.

They had moved to the less damaged part of the castle, then, which was where the servants had lived, in hopes to find anything that was left.

San managed to find clothes that weren't entirely ragged for Hongjoong. They were dirty, but they were better than the clothes he had been wearing, without blood and sword cuts. They tried to find clothes in good conditions for San too, but most of what was left was barely wearable. San didn’t seem to mind, he simply pulled a ragged sweater over his ragged shirt, and it covered the small parts of it that were torn. 

"Your Highness, I know you probably won't want to, and I'm not saying you should _want_ to," he spoke carefully, adjusting the leather that usually covered his right arms over its rightful place atop the sweater, "but we _must_ move, we cannot stay in Kostos, that'd make us too easy a target."

Hongjoong didn't even have strength left to fight. 

He didn't want to leave his home, but what was left of it anyway?

He let San help him onto a horse to then drag him across the forest that bordered the kingdom and out of it, chest aching as San informed him that he had seen the knights that had taken them down making their way to the villages, probably aiming to get rid of the rest of their people, tears raising to his eyes as he imagined the corpses of innocent children. The desire to get revenge growing so strong it choked him.

Adapting was harder, for the both of them.

They often had to steal food and kill animals to survive, their resources were always few, and it was immensely hard to survive on their own in such circumstances—Hongjoong was lucky to have San, otherwise, he doesn’t think he’d have survived for more than a few days, not because he wasn’t capable, but because he’d have surely gone crazy.

With every day that went by, Hongjoong only grew more frustrated, his desire for revenge growing, but his chances getting less and less.

They needed to do something, and it had to be soon.

He hadn’t talked to San about it, about his desire to get back at the people who had done this to them, but he knew the younger felt the same. It was there, in his eyes, every time they had to spend days without eating, every time Hongjoong refused to eat more than exactly half of the food they had.

“Out here, we’re equals,” Hongjoong would tell him. “There’s no kingdom anymore, your duty as my guard ended as soon as my nation fell. Out here, we’re friends, we’re to watch each other’s backs and rely on the other.”

San was never too happy, and Hongjoong always had to spend a few extra minutes in silence because the pain that settled in his chest was too strong—the pain of having lost everything, having witnessed the downfall of his home.

On one particular hot day, he and San were going through a gap between two extremely rocky hills.

The first time they had done so, they had been all twitchy, absolutely paranoid until they could get out of the space. But by that moment they had done it multiple times and the landscape was practically deserted as well, so there was probably no one around.

They were too confident. They lowered their guard.

They shouldn’t have.

The dispute was done before they even suspected it had started.

One moment, they were calmly making their way through the narrow valley, San walking beside the horse as Hongjoong rode on it, tugging at the brim of the hat he had stolen to bring it down and cover his eyes from the bright light. The next, Hongjoong was on the floor, chains wrapped around his body tightly and preventing him from moving, and as he looked up, he noticed San was in a similar situation, shiny silver wrapped around his frame, knees against the dirt; he had managed to withdraw his sword, but it was of no use as he was unable to move.

Around them, there was a grand total of 6 individuals, all clad in black heavy clothes that couldn’t be too comfortable to wear on the area they were in—it was nearly a desert, the heat suffocating, the sun unforgiving —but looked heavy and thick enough to protect them during a fight. Their heads were covered with hats that reached so low it was hard to see their eyes, their faces covered with black masks decorated with chains.

San was trying to free himself from the restraints eagerly, but it was useless, his arms were tightly wrapped under the silver chains and he could hardly even move his hands. Hongjoong could see the frustration on his face, clear as the day.

The chains keeping them both immobile came from the hands of a man standing a few feet away from them, each hand occupied with each chain connected to them,. From his point of view, Hongjoong couldn’t really see any part of his face, but his fingers had shiny rings and he was wearing a long coat, long enough that it almost reached his boots, his frame was long, his shoulders wide.

Beside him, a shorter man stood, his long coat reaching well past his knees. Hongjoong couldn't see his face either, but on his left hand, he held shiny metal claws, while on his right hand his knuckles were adorned with metal spikes. He held his posture as if he was ready in case any of them broke free from their restraints.

The sound of steps caught his attention and Hongjoong looked to the side, turning his head as far as he could, and saw the man standing at their right. He was holding a black whip, long and apparently made out of leather. His posture, the way he held himself, gave away that he was the leader of the group. 

This one, he could see a bit more of—not much, because his mask still covered most of his features. He wasn't wearing a hat, so Hongjoong could see his hair was blond… he had never seen eyes like his before in his life. Round, large, and _so_ dark. Hongjoong had never seen someone with eyes so dark that they looked like the night sky on a rainy weather, smoky clouds obscuring them and hiding any kind of emotion they might've ever contained.

"Let us _go_!" San screamed, absolutely furious and still struggling with the chains.

"Shut up," the blond had said, his voice even and infuriatingly calm. "Jongho, help him up."

Immediately and without hesitation, the man with the claws was walking to Hongjoong, forcing him on his knees.

A sound left San, something that can only be described as animalistic, something that helped showing his mad rage.

"Don't fucking touch him!"

Blond shushed him, still ever so calmly.

"Don't make this harder than it should be, we'll just take everything you have of value and leave."

"We don't have anything!" He screamed again.

"We'll decide that," someone else answered. 

The voice made Hongjoong's attention drift, and he saw the three other men standing a few steps behind the others.

The one who had spoken was standing at a side, and unlike everyone else, who were on guard and ready to attack, he seemed almost relaxed, face entirely covered. At his right, a scythe taller than him rested against the rocky surface of the hill, its long blade so sharp Hongjoong was afraid to so much as stare at it for too long. The man in question leaned his side against his weapon's black snath, arms crossed over his chest. He was tall enough, Hongjoong noticed, that his shoulders were as high as the piece of rock the man beside him was sat at.

The guy next to the one with the scythe looked significantly more hostile but equally threatening as the rest, his eyes set firmly on Hongjoong as he sat on one of the rocks, high enough his feet didn’t touch the ground. Despite the mask covering most of his face, the prince could clearly see he was scowling at him. This man in particular was holding a halberd next to him, long and tall, pointy, but his other hand was holding a bayonet of a decent size, ready to be thrown if it was needed. There were several pockets along his pants too, probably containing similar ones.

In a split second, San managed to get on his feet while using his sword as a support, he growled lowly when the chains around him tightened, and he managed to give exactly one step towards the man holding them down —who, by the way, didn't even _flinch_ —before a voice cut him short.

"Move again, and I'll kill him," the voice said, somewhere at Hongjoong's right.

When he looked to the owner of said voice, his breath got caught in his throat.

He was holding a bow, a _massive_ bow, string pulled tight and ready to snap and send a shiny arrow right across Hongjoong's chest, but it wasn't that what made Hongjoong lose his breath.

It was his eyes.

They were pale brown, near-yellow.

"You…" Hongjoong found himself saying, words flowing out of his mouth without his permission, "could it really be you?"

Everyone seemed to freeze, and then tense up. For a minute, everything was eerily still.

"What are you talking about?" the man asked, voice as tight as the string of his bow.

"I know the story of a prince, kidnapped at a very young age," Hongjoong said, carefully, eyes never leaving the other, "He was never found, never brought back, and everyone thought he was dead. He was set to rule the Kingdom of the east, Aurum, and at his absence, his younger brother took the throne." 

Everyone was dead still, no one daring to move a muscle, as if doing so would break the tension that had built itself around them and crush them.

"A prince who, like you, had eyes that looked like gold," Hongjoong finally said. "A trait that only those of his lineage owned. A proof of their noble blood."

Golden eyes narrowed at him, arrow moving slightly up. He was aiming for Hongjoong's head now, instead of his heart.

"You know an awful lot for a peasant, don't you?" he asked, wrathfully.

Beside Hongjoong, Jongho cleared his throat.

"Apparently, he's not." He said, holding Hongjoong's Coronet which he had found while rummaging through what little him and San had. Hongjoong had begged San to leave it behind, before, but San had argued that they couldn’t—he didn’t give any specific reason, though. 

The man with the bow visibly faltered, lowering his weapon as the rest flinched, losing their composure for a split second to the shock. He was the first one to react again, thought, raising his bow once more, grip tighter.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Hongjoong hesitated. He shouldn't have, but he did. He wasn't sure revealing his identity to those people was a good idea, specially with the way the (supposedly) prince of Aurum had an arrow pointed at his head.

"Kim Hongjoong," he answered, slowly, "Prince of Kostos."

"Kostos fell, I heard... they were massacred, or so people say," the man with the chains said, voice deep but low, almost as if he had been talking to himself.

Hongjoong didn't answer, he instead limited himself to stare in fear as the man with blond hair made his way to him, ripping his hat off his head to reveal his white hair.

Hongjoong and San, within the first few days of wandering, had guessed such a garish characteristic would only bring them trouble, so they made sure to always keep his head covered. It had worked fairly well, and had he not opened his big mouth, maybe they'd have believed them if they said they stole the coronet, and maybe they'd have just took it and left.

"Prince Hongjoong, then," the one with the halberd said, still scowling at him, "I knew there was something about you."

Hongjoong was about to ask what he meant, but he got cut off by the man with the bow.

"Mingi, set him free," he said.

"The prince?" The man holding the chains, Mingi, had asked.

"Yes," the other answered, finally lowering his bow. "His friend stays chained, though."

San made a sound, like he was going to protest, but one flick of Mingi's wrist and he was slamming against the floor _hard_. Hongjoong flinched, leaning forward to make sure San hadn't stabbed himself with his own sword as he fell.

"Be careful, you could've hurt him," Hongjoong snapped, eyes fiery.

"You don't give the orders here, little prince, watch your mouth," a bayonet pointed at him as its owner snapped.

"Wooyoung," the blond said, in a tone in which he didn’t need to say anything else for Wooyoung to understand he had to shut the fuck up.

Hongjoong was set free of his restraints—not before Jongho took away both his and San's swords—and he immediately surged forwards, helping San to his knees.

"So," the man with the scythe said, still casually leaning against it, "did Kostos actually fall?"

"We were attacked by Plarece," Hongjoong said.

"And they managed to defeat you?" The one with bow scowled, removing his hat to reveal perfectly styled golden hair, the exact same color of his eyes, "Your kingdom was the strongest of all, your army was the largest."

"We don't know how it happened, either," San piped in, voice carefully controlled, "but we woke up in the middle of the night to them attacking, they outdid us in numbers, somehow. They killed all the nobles first, went for the rest of the people later. I hardly managed to save the prince, and I had to chain him up in a dungeon for that."

The last part was totally unnecessary, but Hongjoong didn't comment because he knew what San was doing.

_"If anyone were to find out I'm alive, people would think I'm a coward,"_ Hongjoong had said during their first night outside their kingdom, tears filling his eyes and body shaking with panic, _"they would think of me, and they'd think about a man who was supposed to be king, but saved his own life instead of saving his family and his people."_

San didn't want them to think Hongjoong was a coward. He didn't want them to, so he revealed more than they needed him to.

He always needed to protect Hongjoong, in whichever way he was able to. The older was convinced, at that point, that more than him actually wanting to, it was a reflex—not like he thought San actually _didn't_ want to protect him, but more like he was _certain_ he did it without even thinking, his body acted before his mind could catch up.

"Well, nice surprises have us seeing supposedly dead people," Jongho said.

"I could say the same," Hongjoong bit back, staring deep into golden eyes.

"You think you're intimidating, Kostos prince?" the other asked, voice dangerous as he gave a step forward.

"Yeosang, that's enough," the man with the scythe said, finally moving from his casual position to give a few steps closer to Yeosang.

"Come on, Wooyoung, stop aiming that at him, he's unarmed," the blond said, ripping the bayonet from the man sitting by the rocks.

Hongjoong stayed close to San, helping him to his feet while the others created and semicircle around them.

“Are you just gonna take that and leave?” San asked them sharply, his head snapping to the small bag Jongho was holding, which has all they had.

It only contained some food, some water, some ragged clothes and Hongjoong’s coronet.

The blond smirked at them, his eyes even darker than they used to be, making a shiver run down Hongjoong’s spine.

“Not quite,” he told them. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong asked him.

“Why are you wandering these deserted lands?” he asked, voice just slightly deeper, “where are you heading to?”

Hongjoong tensed, body going rigid and his grip on San’s arm tightening.

“We’re just trying to survive,” San said, voice rising in pitch. “We gotta keep moving, we cannot stay in one place.”

The man’s lips pulled up just a little more, chin tilting down and eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, “Is that so?”

Hongjoong’s hand, which had made its way under San’s restraints, manages to tug at the chain enough that Mingi lost balance, allowing San to break free from them. He pushed his hand under San’s shirt to free the knife Hongjoong knew he kept there, while the other pulled out the one he had at his hip.

It was lightning fast, and it took a second for the rest to react. That second, gave Hongjoong enough time to grab Wooyoung by the shoulder and push him in front of him, knife at his neck. There were several weapons pointing at them in that moment, but Hongjoong kept his eyes fixed on Yeosang, ready to use Wooyoung as a human shield in case he decided to actually throw his arrow at him, his left hand managing to grab both of his hostage’s hands at the man’s back.

“Let him go!” Yeosang screamed.

“Let _us_ go!” Hongjoong bit back.

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’ve gotten yourself into, Prince,” the blond man said, “look at me.”

“Do it, Seonghwa! Do it!” Wooyoung demanded, “It doesn’t matter, just _do it._ ”

Hongjoong turned his head at him, and found him with San firmly pressed against his front, whip around his neck _so tight_ that Hongjoong could almost picture what would happen if he tugged a little more. He held back a gag at the mental image as his stomach dropped.

San seemed to have stabbed Seonghwa in the leg with his own knife, but the other man was unfazed by the action. 

“I’m gonna slit his throat,” Hongjoong threatened, voice as even as he could manage, “Let San go, or I’m killing him.”

“He can heal, could even bring himself back if you’re too quick,” the man said, calm as ever, “your friend can’t do that, can he?” 

Confusion and panic flooded Hongjoong’s heard, his hands tightening over Wooyoung’s wrists as he chuckled darkly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he screamed, panic quickly rising as San’s face turned bright red. His eyes told Hongjoong to run, but he must have been out of his mind to think Hongjoong would ever abandon him.

Hongjoong would rather die by the hands any bandit than leave San’s side, specially to save himself.

“Listen to me, Prince Hongjoong,” the man, Seonghwa, told him, “out of everyone here, you took hold of one of the two people who is not human.” 

Hongjoong froze. He could see the panic in San’s eyes growing.

“There’s nothing you can do to _actually_ hurt him, so just let him go,” Seonghwa told him, his hand moved minutely, and Hongjoong could see San’s eyes roll back in pain.

“San!”

“If you let Wooyoung go, I’ll let him go too, our intention was never to have a fight,” Seonghwa told him, Hongjoong hated how carefully controlled his voice was under such situation.

Hongjoong hesitated, because Wooyoung was his only card to play in that moment, and if he let him go, he’d be doomed.

“You can’t _permanently_ or _lethally_ hurt him,” Seonghwa explained, eyes staring down at Hongjoong so intently that he couldn’t help but feel in danger, “but just _one_ scratch, and I’ll give it back tenfold,” he threatened, whip tightening just that much more around San’s neck, “you would be surprised, Prince Hongjoong, with how vengeful I can be.” 

Hongjoong let go, immediately, and Wooyoung pushed forwards, away from him. 

Seonghwa, on the other hand, loosened his grip over the whip, but kept it there, around San’s collar, as the other fell on his knees, bending over himself and coughing for air. He looked like a leashed animal, as if he was Seonghwa’s pet. Deep bruises already starting to form where the whip had been.

“I know what you’re up to,” Seonghwa said, beckoning Wooyoung to stand next to him, “I can feel it coming off of both of you, that desire for revenge.”

San’s hands found the whip, but they only held it there, like he was too scared to try freeing himself. 

Hongjoong started to shake, so violently his knife almost fell from his grasp. 

“What are you?” San finally articulated the question in Hongjoong’s mind.

Not _who_ , but _what_.

“Is that important?” Seonghwa asked softly, like he was talking to children, “What matters is that we can help you. _I_ can.”

“Why would you help us?” Hongjoong asked, he gripped the handle of San’s knife harder, trying to ground himself.

“We could benefit from that,” Seonghwa answered, shrugging casually.

“What is it exactly that you’re suggesting we do, then?” Hongjoong questioned, voice low, eyes narrowed at the man who still held everything Hongjoong had left within the grasp of his whip. 

He let go of him, the whip uncurling from around San’s neck seemingly on its own and falling to Seonghwa’s side without making a sound.

“I suggest we go to Plarece,” Seonghwa said, slapping his whip against the floor once, “and destroy them.”

\----

Seonghwa was, quite literally, a vengeful demon—demon, spirit, deity… accordingly to him, humans called him many things depending on their own perspectives, but he wouldn't call himself anything more than just a _'being'_ moved by the feeling of revenge. He didn't know what he was born of, either; it was as simple as one day you're not there, and the next you are. Everything he knew, it was all instinct.

Wooyoung was the same, but unlike Seonghwa, who had been standing for far longer than any of the kingdoms, he was barely two decades old. He was younger than Hongjoong himself, yet he was fifty times more dangerous.

Yunho—the man with the scythe—and Jongho were brothers, and Seonghwa had apparently rescued them from the desert after events they all refuse to talk about.

It didn't fit the image of a vengeful demon, really, to take two children of 7 and 6 years of age at the verge of dehydration and starvation, and take care of them until they were adults.

It didn't fit the image of a vengeful demon, either, that he had saved Mingi from an ambush against his family while they were moving from a kingdom to another—they were merchants, apparently—when he was no older than 12, keeping him by his side and raising him after everyone else had been killed.

And it definitely didn't fit the image of a vengeful demon that he had found Yeosang, tied and begging for his life at the mercy of men who had plans of ruining his entire kingdom, and had not only saved him but let his wrath fall upon said men.

Seonghwa was a vengeful demon, but he had basically raised each one of the people who traveled by his side. It was, technically, his own family.

A family that was willing to aid San and Hongjoong on their journey.

\----

"They feed from it," Yeosang explained later, when night had fallen and they had all gathered around a fire in some hidden part of the valley. They had let San free, and they had given them their weapons back, "from helping people take revenge. No matter how small the act is."

"The bigger, the better, though," Jongho told them.

They had finally removed their hats and masks, and Hongjoong could finally make out their features.

Jongho, as the youngest of the group, didn't really seem like it. His eyes were well set, firm. He was strong, hence why his weapons allowed him to fight at short distance. His smiles were small, tight. His cheeks, though, were round and gave away just how young he actually was.

Yunho wasn't by any means similar. His eyes were softer, his smiles wider, but his cheeks just as round. He was dangerous, though, no one needed to tell Hongjoong that so he'd know, he could just tell that he held a power within himself he was glad wasn't turned against him.

Had they not told them before they were brothers, though, Hongjoong would've never guessed. The only thing they seemed to share was the color of their hair, both a dark black, and Hongjoong supposed they were from the north, because most peasants in that area had hair like theirs.

Mingi was… quiet. Yunho said he regularly wasn't really like that, but he always got wary around strangers. His small eyes were narrowed at either San or Hongjoong, as if expecting them to make a move against them, his chocolate hair falling over his forehead from where it had been pushed back in messy, stiff strands, and his lips pursed as if he was focusing very hard on his unspoken task. Hongjoong supposed it was the trauma in him, probably. 

"How do they _exactly_ feed from it?" San asked, tone extremely careful.

After they knew what those people meant to each other, they didn't want to make a move to make them upset and attack.

"It's taking actions ourselves," Seonghwa explained them, standing right behind Wooyoung. "We help you take revenge, that and your emotions will fuel our power."

"Like… killing?" San asked.

"Well, if it comes to that," Seonghwa said in turn, shrugging, "our real power will come from how strong your desire of revenge is, and honestly, we could use a desire like yours."

"Especially like his," Wooyoung said, head tilting to point at Hongjoong, and the two _beings_ directed their attention to him.

They were beautiful in a way that could not be described with words. Otherworldly, after all. Blond hair seeming to glow in the darkness of the night and eyes that seemed to shine with the coldest shade of black with each flicker of the fire that sat between them. 

Hongjoong rose an eyebrow in question at Wooyoung.

"We can feel it," he simply said, "emanating off you like a perfume. The strongest the smell, the higher the desire for revenge… and you _stink_."

" _Wooyoung_ ," Seonghwa reprimanded, as Yunho and Yeosang snorted in unison.

"Those people… they killed my family," Hongjoong told them, eyes on the fire but mind a million miles away, "massacred the entire _kingdom_ … so can I be blamed?"

"It's been a while since we last met someone with a desire as strong as yours," Seonghwa said, instead of answering his question, "your soul is strong, your Highness."

"Am I still a prince if there's no longer a kingdom?" Hongjoong asked this time, voice bitter.

No one bothered answering, Hongjoong's only sign that he had actually been heard being San's hand, sneaking its way behind his body and laying over the small of his back, a simple gesture that brought him great levels of comfort.

Hours later, after Seonghwa had advised them all to sleep and rest for the journey they'd have ahead, Hongjoong found himself wide awake.

It was not uncommon, he found short after they started to travel that he couldn't bring himself to fall asleep so easily, and when he did, he usually had awful nightmares.

Hongjoong sat in the dark, moonlight barely finding their hiding place.

"You can't sleep?" a voice said to his right, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Ah? No, can't," he answered to whoever was quietly making his way to his side.

When the figure got close enough to him, the limited light finally allowed him to know who it was.

Yeosang sat next to him, looking ahead.

"Is it the ghosts in your mind?" he asked.

His voice was quiet, like he was only ever used to speak softly.

"Yes," Hongjoong answered, truthfully.

"It used to be happen to me too," Yeosang admitted, "the guilt and the shame were too much, I'd spend days without closing an eye."

Several moments of silence outstretched between them before Hongjoong dared to say another word.

"At first, were you… forced to stay?" Hongjoong asked, softly. "With them?"

"No," Yeosang answered, not sounding as upset ad Hongjoong expected him to… or rather, not sounding upset at all, "Seonghwa told me, back then, that he'd take me back to my kingdom if I just said the word. All I had to do was tell him, and he would."

Yeosang looked at the floor, through the dark, Hongjoong could see him grab a little rock and start making marks all over the dust.

"I didn't want to go back," he admitted, voice falling even quieter than before, "I didn't… want to be king, I never did. And yet, the shame that my choice brought, the guilt at knowing that I had left my responsibilities behind, that I let my parents and my brother think I was dead… they were too heavy on my young mind."

Hongjoong sighed, their situations too different for him to sympathize with the other crown prince.

"Can you sleep now?" he asked, not even trying to think of a way to comfort the heaviness his words so obviously carried.

No matter what he did, or what Hongjoong ever said, his choice had been made, too many years had passed, and it'd hurt more than it'd help.

"Most of the time," Yeosang replied, Hongjoong could hear more than see his smile, "Yunho helps."

"Oh?"

"He… always got worried because I slept too little, so he tried to stay awake with me, but he always fell asleep. Eventually, we just fell into the routine of sleeping close to each other, and it helped me more than I could've ever guessed it would." Yeosang told him, his eyes fixed on the sky.

"Ah," Hongjoong said, unsure of what was the correct answer.

Yeosang actually giggled.

"Sometimes you just need to rely on those close to you," Yeosang advised, "it's not like it'll erase all the bad, but it'll help you. Even Seonghwa leans on us, sometimes."

Hongjoong sighed and looked behind them. On the floor, a few feet away from him, San was curled around himself, his sword an arm length away from him, and their bag with their little belongings between his arms.

Hongjoong regarded the bag for a minute and wondered, oh, he _wondered_ , if San would ever let him take its place.

\----

They target the royal family. _Only_ the royal family, because, even if Hongjoong is thirsty for revenge, he’s not a monster. He’d never be able to massacre an entire kingdom for their ruler’s actions—and it’s not like he had the power to, anyway, because even if Seonghwa and Wooyoung always had the upper hand in every fight, two of them weren’t enough.

Plarece’s rulers had been coward enough to plan an attack at night, while the enemies were sleeping, but Hongjoong wasn’t willing to take a page out of their book. They’d attack while everyone was awake, so they’d know what happened, and they’d know why.

“I have to warn you,” Seonghwa had told them, while they were strategizing, “Once we start this… It might consume you a little, that desire of yours.”

San had looked at him with narrowed eyes, a nonverbal question.

Seonghwa sighed.

“Since we’re helping you, we’re sort of going to bond with you while we’re at this,” he explained, voice severe, “your feelings are going to be amplified while they fuel us, and you might lose yourselves to them. You won’t do anything you wouldn’t actually _want_ to, but it’s just a warning.”

“If you’re not sure about this, now is the time to back out,” Wooyoung said. 

But Hongjoong and San had never been ones to back out, so they didn’t.

They struck in the afternoon, while the royal family was having a feast, all together. 

There were several knights guarding the royalty, but none of them prepared for what was to come.

Hongjoong caught his own red eyes on the reflection of one of the shiny decoration armours lined around the dining hall while he fought one of the knights, proof of his bond to both Seonghwa and Wooyoung at the moment. He watched San stab a man with his sword across the hall, his eyes a crimson shade as well.

The princess managed to get to the door and scream for help, and though Wooyoung was fast to quiet her down _permanently_ , reinforcements still arrived.

It was not a particularly hard fight, in all honesty. Not when Hongjoong felt faster and he aimed his sword with far more precision than he ever had, his senses heightened—thanks to Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and their bond—and he had so many good fighters by his side. 

It was not long before they got rid of the reinforcements that had managed to reach them. Mingi locked the doors up as Yunho lined what was left of the royal family on their knees, against the wall in front of the table.

"Did you think you could commit genocide against Kostos and get away with it?" Hongjoong asked, blood boiling as he unsheathed the dagger at San hip, rounding the table to get closer to them, "How did you find so many knights to fight on your side? Your kingdom is small, you're not strong enough."

The king refused to look at Hongjoong, the queen sobbed with her hands over her mouth and the prince stared quietly, hands at his backs where Jongho had tied them.

Hongjoong felt his emotions unleash, snap, and he felt the sudden burst of anger ten times worse than he had ever felt.

"I fucking asked you a question," Hongjoong said, directly at the king, while he grabbed the queen by the hair and shoved her right in front of him. She yelled at the rough treatment, but Hongjoong was so consumed by his anger he could barely listen, " _how_?"

He didn't answer, so Hongjoong stabbed San's dagger into the Queen's stomach, delighting in the way the King flinched when he twisted it and she spat blood all over herself.

" _Where_ the fuck did you get so much people to fight by your side?" Hongjoong asked again, this time with his face barely centimeters away from the king's.

It was the bond, he knew it well, because he could feel his anger crawling over his skin as if it was a entity of its own, but he couldn't fucking care any less.

"It matters not if I tell you, boy," the king said, his words firm but his eyes still on the floor, "it won't bring back the dead."

Anger took control. Hongjoong supposed it would at some point, but he was still surprised when he realized he had stabbed the prince, several times, without even noticing. As if it had been done any someone other than himself.

"I want answers!" He screamed, one step away from jumping over the king himself, " _how_ the fuck!?"

The King was trembling where he was kneeling in front of Hongjoong, fear clear in his features as his eyes roamed around the room and over the people that, to him, must look like demon.

So fucking pathetic, the crown prince could almost see how he was doing everything in his power not to cry. So weak for a King.

"Did you trust blindly everyone who stood by your side in your Kingdom?" He asked, his hands tight fists over his robes, "your father did. Perhaps that was his biggest mistake."

"Are you trying to tell me that we were betrayed?" Hongjoong yelled, entirely losing his mind by that point.

"Captain Choi did help a lot," the king answered.

There was a loud sound behind Hongjoong, and he barely turned around in time to look at San as he pushed him back and held his sword to the King's throat.

"Captain Choi would've never betrayed his nation," San said, voice dark and steady.

The king looked at him with an expression that was too closed to be deciphered.

"He came to me," the King told him, "said that if we worked together, we could bring the kingdom to its downfall, he told me when they'd be the most vulnerable, advised me when to strike!" 

"My father would've _never_ betrayed our kingdom!" San screamed, rising his sword and ready to bring it down over the King's neck.

"He's not lying," Wooyoung said darkly, his voice slightly distorted due to his powers. "We can feel when someone's lying… he's not."

Utter horror made itself clear in San's expression, his eyes fixed on the king as if daring him to say Wooyoung was wrong. As if _begging_ him to.

San's father had been the King's right-hand man, the pillar of Kostos' safety. To know he had betrayed them just like that, for no apparent reason, was more than just devastating. To know he had left San, _his only son_ , behind without a word… was devastating. 

"He's been taken care of, though, if you want to seek revenge that way too," the king continued, careful eyes never leaving San's sword, which was still raised midair, "I couldn't leave a traitor free, him and his people were too much of a threat. I told them to look for you, when they said they hadn't found you that night, and told my soldiers to eliminate them when they split into groups."

San makes a sound, a deep and guttural growl that seemed to rip itself off from the deepest part of his soul, frustration and anger manifesting through it as he spun around and knocked as many things as he could off the table. 

Hongjoong felt… so much. He felt sorry, he felt hurt, the bond only magnifying his urge to hold San and do something, _anything_ to make him feel better.

Hongjoong looked at the king in the eyes while San banged his hands over the table again and again.

"Were you so envious of us that even now, when I've killed all of your family after you erased my _entire_ Kingdom, you only seem to regret that I was left alive?"

"You were a threat," the king spat, so much poison for someone who was at the mercy of others, "I did the world a favor."

Hongjoong's jaw tightened.

"No," he said, ripping the coronet off the prince’s head before he rounded the table to sit right in front of where the king was, tugging San with him in the process. "I think you've got this wrong, your Majesty."

Hongjoong stabbed the dagger he had been using on the wood of the table as he sat, placed the coronet over the side his chair and grabbed a cup that had been knocked over.

San, by his side, grabbed another one that still had some of its contents, and started pouring half of it into Hongjoong's.

" _I_ am about to do the world a big favor," Hongjoong grinned, making a slight head movements to ask Seonghwa to come closer.

The man did, and he stood behind the king, wrapping his whip around his neck with that otherworldly grace of his.

"Should we toast to that?”

Hongjoong tilted his cup up, and nodded his head once.

Seonghwa tightened his whip until there was nothing left to tighten around.

\----

Escaping the kingdom was relatively easy, because they did it before the rest of the guards and knights in the palace could realize what had happened to their monarchs.

Hongjoong and San were drained, so tired they could barely stand.

"It's normal," Seonghwa told him, "the bond drains a lot of energy, you're both gonna be tired for a while."

It was more a promise than a statement, Hongjoong figured, because sure enough his limbs felt heavy and his mind sluggish, to the point he could barely tell reality and hallucinations apart.

Hongjoong didn't know where they were going from that point. He didn't know if they'd make their own way, didn't know if they were going to stay with the group that helped them, didn't know if falling asleep would be easier or if he'd ever have the guts to ask San for the same help Yunho offered to Yeosang.

He only knew the people that had taken almost everything from him had paid, and that had to be enough.

A quantity of hours rush by like seconds, but Hongjoong couldn't really tell if the darkening sky was anything but a lucid dream. Perhaps it was because he had been right there, in the land between sleep and consciousness, that he didn’t know if the sounds around him were real.

The tumbril stopped moving, the horses shrieked.

"Arrows!" Someone screamed, and Hongjoong bolted awake, sitting up.

He struggled to push himself off the flat surface of wood he had been laying on, kicking his feel to get himself off it and _under_ it.

"They're knights! They found us!" Yeosang screamed, from _somewhere_ Hongjoong couldn't make up.

He fell on his back, the impact against the rough stone harsh on his weak body, and he made a pained noise.

Arrows fell over them like a sinister rain of death, and somewhere at his left, hidden behind rocks, he could make out the figures of Yeosang and Wooyoung, throwing arrows and bayonets back at their attackers while the others scurried around to get them by surprise.

Hongjoong shouldn't have lowered his guard, he shouldn't have gotten distracted, but he did, and he was too slow to reach at the arrows quickly coming down on him.

Hongjoong closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain he was sure he'd experience in no time.

" _San!"_ Yeosang screamed.

San?

Hongjoong's body flooded with dread as he opened his eyes.

Just above him, bracing himself on one hand and his sword, was San. He had been cut on the cheek, presumably by an arrow that made its way too close to him, and his blood fell over Hongjoong's face. At his back, Hongjoong could see the ends of three arrows.

" _San no!"_ he hissed, far more quietly than he thought he would, hands frantically tugging at his clothes.

"You know this, your Highness," San told him, voice rough like it was hard for him to speak, one of the arrows looked too far up his back, and Hongjoong wouldn't have been surprised if it had pierced through his lung, "your safety has always been my responsibility."

"San no, no," Hongjoong repeated, tugging at his ragged sweater like that'd heal his wounds.

San smiled down at him, the hand holding his sword trembling frantically.

"I'm so sorry, your Highness," he said, nothing more than a quiet whisper before he let himself fall over the other's shoulder, "I love you, Hongjoong."

Hongjoong wanted to say something, anything, but he found he could not speak as his eyes welled up with tears. San gave two more deep breaths, and then he stopped breathing all together.

Hongjoong felt himself go stiff, not willing to accept it, _it couldn't be_.

Over San's shoulder, he saw Yunho standing behind the men who had shot them. He rose his scythe over his head, spun it once, twice, before bringing it down on their necks.

Three men, one swift movement.

Hongjoong pushed himself out from under San's limp body, and hurriedly tapped his hand against his cheek, moving his arm.

"Come on, wake up, you have to wake up," Hongjoong kept repeating, liquid desperation running down his face.

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa said, pressing a hand against his shoulders.

He looked up at the older, and the man just shook his head.

Hongjoong's breath left his body.

"You can't do anything!?" he screamed, hands fisting his hair, gaze alternating between San and Seonghwa, "You've gotta do _anything_ , please, I'm begging you!"

"Life and death in this aspect… it escapes my power," Seonghwa explained him, looking apologetic, "I'm sorry, Hongjoong, there's nothing I can do."

He looked down in horror at who had been his guard, his best friend, the only person he could've ever trusted.

The only person he had ever loved.

Hongjoong felt the sobs leave him.

  
They had really taken away _everything_ from him.

**Author's Note:**

> So *nervous laughter* that was it. [This](https://twitter.com/Noriimorii/status/1215662395210625025) is what made it all possible please look at those amazing drawing and give them love! You gotta!
> 
> If you liked this story maybe please consider leaving a comment?🥺🤲🏽 I will do my best to write the other part (the romance centered part) as quickly as possible, thank you so much for reading!! 
> 
> ((((you can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kqhwafellaz), I swear I love people yelling at me about stuff I wrote fdsgffd))))


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